One Day in the Life of Gordon Freeman
by Jerorfigan
Summary: The following is an account of Gordon Freeman's adventures over the course of a single day in City 17.
1. Part 1 Ground Zero

**Part 1 – Ground Zero**

The fog had set in thick, engulfing the streets and enshrouding the decrepit, tin-roofed shanties that lined the block. The avenue was torn by shells; here and there, torrents of smoke fumed from enormous craters, filled with burning wreckage. Abandoned cars, sprawled out on vacant axles, lay desolate atop the pavement. Beside them rested numerous mangled bodies, strewn about haphazardly amidst streams of black gore. The streams converged into vapid pools that smelled sickly of death and decay.

It was 6:34 in the morning and the sun remained suffocated by gray clouds. The chatter of gun fire had already sprung up. Between the loud fusillades, distant cries could be heard from beyond the hollow buildings, barred off by towering piles of rubble and fallen debris.

Lying fast against a concrete barrier, Gordon peered calmly out into the darkness. He hadn't eaten for over eighteen hours and his stomach now ached terribly. His mind, drowsy from prolonged periods of trepidation, was unfocused. Periodically, a shot would blare harshly, ricochet from afar, and zing dangerously overhead. This would arouse him briefly. Then the shooting would stop and the intermediate silence would return, making the wait all the more unbearable.

Feeling around in his pockets, he removed the last of his rations and, relinquishing his assault rifle, proceeded to devour the few remnants of stale bread. He would have to scavenge for more food during the night, when the threat of the Combine salvo was less severe. If he was at all fortunate, he could usually find supplies scattered about in crates, or left behind in some seldom apartment that had withstood the bombardment. Occasionally, during these clandestine raids, he would encounter other resistance fighters. Too often they were desperately weary, appearing bloodied and haggard, and on the verge of defecting. He knew he could not reside with them long, or he would risk being informed on.

Glancing down, Gordon noticed a red light flickering on the front dial of his hazard suit. His last power cell was almost depleted.

He stayed leaning against the barrier until, suddenly, he was alerted by a subtle clicking sound. A scanner had descended through the collapsed spire of a derelict church, opposite his position, and was zigzagging swiftly down the avenue. He thought, momentarily, that it might pass by without notice, but an abrupt change in course, at the last minute, sent the scanner gliding directly towards him. He crouched low, unfastening his crowbar from his belt. He would have to strike it since firing at it with his assault rifle would attract unwanted attention. The scanner emitted a soft whir as it oscillated about the road, swerving between the smoldering refuse. Then, finally catching sight of him, it stopped in midair and began to click rapidly.

Rushing out from behind the barrier, Gordon lunged at the scanner, which continued to hover in place. He swung his crowbar fiercely at the twirling machine, which, at the last moment, having realized the objective of its pursuer, zoomed away cannily. Gordon cursed loudly as he watched the scanner take flight, disappearing into the fog. They knew where he was now and they would be coming for him.

Without hesitating for a moment, he grabbed his rifle and dashed back up along the avenue. It was almost 7 o'clock. In a short while, the entire area would be crawling with Combine troops. He made his way past the graveyard of rundown buildings that paralleled the street, finally veering off down a deserted alleyway littered with heaps of trash. Vaulting over an overturned waste bin, he plunged, by accident, into a puddle of filth. This sudden lurch made him lose his balance and sent him toppling onto the ground.

Gordon looked up in time to glimpse the incandescent jets of a Combine drop ship as it made an aerial arc above the alleyway. He arose quick, continuing frantically down the polluted passage. The craft vented a shrill screech as it swooped past, no doubt en route to the place where he was spotted by the scanner.

When he reached the end, he took off hastily down another side street, being careful to stay out of sight. As he made his way through the shadows, he listened periodically for the loud radio static of his unrelenting nemesis, but heard nothing.


	2. Part 2 Trial and Error

**Part 2 – Trial and Error**

The fog had cleared and the sun was now glowing calmly in the pale sky. Traces of light fell dispersed among the crumbling edifices, casting shadowy threads across the dilapidated metropolitan. Amidst the ash, pillars of concrete rose like ghosts above the barren scape. They stood precariously atop cracked bases, ready to collapse at the slightest provocation. Below, the once complex byways were acutely fragmented, buried under mounds of brick and caked in sediment.

Towering darkly above this deserted expanse, the citadel, now visible through the lifting clouds, burned dismally in the morning haze. The many glistening spindles that protruded from its plated mass were now pointed vertically. When the surveillance was heightened, as would happen intermittently, the spindles would shift downward, exposing many branched apertures. Hundreds of scanners would then pour from the tiny openings, swirling synchronously in long bands before scattering out. Later in the day, as the sun made its descent, the obelisk would obscure nearly all of the light, blanketing the entire city in gloom.

Gordon made his away along an enclosed plot. It wasn't safe to stay on the roads since the Overwatch patrolled them constantly. He had trekked a mile, or so he thought–though it was impossible to be sure while navigating the tight slums–from where the drop ship landed. They would search the proximity and if they did not find him, they would sweep out in waves. He had to get out of there.

Crawling over fallen doors and discarded furnishings, he progressed through a dank tenement. The air inside was thick and putrid. In one room, he discovered a box tucked up against the wall, almost hidden. He chopped at it with his crowbar until it splintered. Inside, he found supplies, in particular, more rations. He ate ravenously, keeping an eye on the agape balcony. In another room he found a stack of ammunition for his rifle, as well as some shotgun slugs. He retrieved a backpack from a cadaver he found in a bunk on the upper floor. The body was of a man, pallid and stiff, with one arm dangling lifelessly over the side of his bed. Gordon placed the remaining rations and the ammunition into the pack, sealed it, and left the building.

He estimated that it would take him two days to reach Kleiner's lab as he could not go there directly, but would have to traverse the canals. The canals were teeming with Combine and the guard alongside was formidable. With any luck, the attention brought by the scanner would have diverted most of the watch. If he could make it through before the next surveillance alert, he had a chance of sneaking by undetected.

Gordon clambered over the hood of a jaded pickup truck, which bridged the gap of a massive fault in the pavement, emerging on the edge of the sprawling district. Across the way, the road stopped. In front of him, the ground dropped off and a series of palisades stretched steeply down to the area below. Beyond that, he could see the entrance to the canal, which, on the side closest to him, was lined by a tall barbed fence. There was a wide platform beside the gate; and, standing on the platform, in a black uniform with an orange insignia, was a single patrol.

Spying a makeshift ladder along the rocky face–which he suspected was placed there by the Combine to enable quick transit between the lower zone and the upper tenements–he climbed down to the platform. There were a number of crates assembled here, allowing him to crouch out of view. Sliding behind an unusually large one, he removed his pack and seized his rifle which he had been toting on his back. The patrol still hadn't moved. Gordon waited, watching the guard from behind the crate. The soldier was poised idly, cinching a sub-machine gun and surveying the platform indiscreetly.

The trooper glanced down momentarily. Gordon raised his weapon and took aim.

The shot was loud, resounding sharply over the platform and lingering for awhile in the depths of the aqueduct. The patrol tottered, dropping his gun, and then crumpled up against the fence. A discordant radio static signified his demise.

Gordon snapped the padlock on the gate and bounded down into the canal, landing with a splash waist-deep in the murky water. The cement divider inclined precipitously on either side; there was no going back. Scanning both directions to regain his bearings, he promptly chose a course and headed out. He waded northbound along the narrow channel, advancing toward a large conduit that jutted from the retaining wall. The acrid scent exuding from the mire was insufferable, and he tried desperately to stifle his breath.

As he neared the pipe, which–if his memory served him–would lead him to his destination, he became aware of a dozen footsteps overhead. He sank down into the water, keeping only his head above the surface. Combine radio chatter flared up directly above his position. It was too late. A frenzied voice bayed across the chasm; they had spotted him.

In an instant, five armored troops had repelled down into the canal, plunging violently into the water. Their blue laser sights danced along the walls, immediately resting on Gordon's disheveled face.

"Disarm citizen, or be exterminated!" said a gruff voice.

Raising his hands, our unfortunate hero stood up slowly.


	3. Part 3 Friends

**Part 3 – Friends**

Gordon shuffled clumsily down a drab boulevard, one of the last still traceable in the ruin, with a combine plasma rifle held uncomfortably at his back. His captors walked on all sides of him, anticipating, as if by some spontaneous impulse, their prisoner might try to dash away and escape through a shady egress. In any case, he was subdued; they had confiscated his weapons, and his hazard suit. Clad in only the same dull gray attire he had worn on his arrival, he for the moment appeared like any other tired-eyed resistance fighter, lost without a cause. The objective, which he could hardly recall succinctly, had vanished and now he was being taken to a nearby outpost where he would remain detained until the Combine figured out what to do with him.

The road skewed off to the left, partially obstructed by a series of street lights snared in a fallen power line. The buildings here, which were conspicuously tall, loomed under a mass of raven wires and dark circuitry. The walls themselves seemed to have strangely assimilated, or begun so, with a network of cords growing directly out of the substratum. Gordon had only begun to admire the bizarre development before he was told to keep his head down and remain unmindful of his surroundings.

Shortly after, a loud rumbling burst skyward, trailed by a myriad of fierce whooshes. Revolving shadows shifted fleetingly across the dust, slowly gathering into a single cognizable shape. Gordon watched as the hind rudder of a monstrous drop ship, shimmering in the morning haze, descended between the rooftops and drifted turbulently over the strip. The colossal vessel gyrated slowly, currents of vapor issuing off its specular hull, finally alighting outside a towering stockade.

The soldiers began squabbling in staticky blasts. Dragging Gordon along, they drew casually towards the stockade, where a squad of Overwatch was now disembarking from the drop ship. The entrance was protected by a blue coruscating force field, and lined atop the walls with mounted turrets. From what could be discerned, the lustrous bulwark was circular in formation, with many long ramparts and support beams. Along the perimeter, there had been erected a series of glassy parapets. The glass seemed to be strangely diffusing across an invisible mantle; the effect was distorted by aberrant refractions.

One of the soldiers accompanying Gordon stepped aside to operate a panel on the wall. The force field in front of them flickered for a moment, and then disappeared.

Within the stockade, there were sets of ramps, mounting from the earthen bedrock onto a huge framework. Here there stood what was presumably a Combine base. The central building, which appeared to have been something else long before, was circumvented by metal columns and covered with a nexus of intricate cables. Scattered across its nebulous face and bulging from beneath its reinforcements, was an array of pulsating nodules. From its enormous breadth, it looked to be about fifty feet off the ground and nearly a quarter mile in diameter.

Gordon continued to stare open-mouthed at the superstructure as they pushed him inside. He was immediately met with a loud buzzing noise, which discomforted his eardrums and gave him a severe headache.

Numerous Combine were moving about in here, employed across various catwalks, some busy manipulating computer terminals and others stacking armaments. Gordon was taken hastily down a flight of steps, and through a long corridor, into some sort of artificial courtyard. The ceiling was concealed beyond a screen of blinding fluorescent light, which illuminated the entire room. He squinted to make out a figure standing at the center of the enclosure. Feeling the plasma rifle at his back again, he was directed toward the figure, stopping a couple feet away.

The four soldiers that had been transporting Gordon now departed through a separate passage, leaving him face to face with a Combine elite. The elite was outfitted in a white uniform, with a blanched facemask and vest, and had a peculiarly angular body. Gordon was surprised to discover, after being harshly addressed, that it was a woman.

The female officer, without warning, grasped him firmly by the arm and hauled him into an adjacent room. The room was stark in comparison; it was dimly lit and cluttered with miscellaneous junk. Lying in the middle was a rickety metal chair, which the officer proceeded to shove him down onto.

Gordon didn't resist. He was at the hub of a Combine fortress and completely unarmed. All he could do was endure their interrogations.

"Who do you confide with?" She demanded immediately.

Gordon remained silent. He had no idea who she could mean; all his former allies had been captured by Overwatch patrols, or had disappeared. Kleiner's abandoned lab was the only source of aid he had left, and he wasn't about to disclose it to her.

The elite continued to watch him quietly, her arms folded across her chest. Gordon suddenly became aware of the gleaming silver slide of a USP Match, tucked in a holster on her belt. He thought nervously, for the first time, about the intentions of his adversaries. Would she shoot him if he didn't answer?

"This will not do," the officer chided menacingly.

Then, unexpectedly, the elite slid her hands over her head and removed her facemask. Gordon was stunned.

"Perhaps you'll answer to me now," said a familiar voice.

Standing before him in the dark room, her face cold and unwavering, was Alyx Vance.


	4. Part 4 Metamorphosis

**Part 4 – Metamorphosis**

Gordon was speechless. His former liaison, and long time friend, now tarried before him, brandishing a Combine decoration. In fact, Alyx looked nothing like her usual self. Her hair, which was always short and taut under a headband, now curled wildly over her features. As he descried her vaguely against the somber room, he was surprised to see how much she had changed. She looked vastly older. Her affectionate smile, which he could recall fondly, had faded completely, and was now replaced with an impassive stare. And her skin, which was rigid and acutely waxen, accentuated her eerily opaque eyes. It was as if she had been transformed into some estranged specter.

"Remember me, Gordon?" Alyx inquired darkly.

She took a few steps closer. Gordon searched her expressionless face for any trace of sentience. What had they done to her?

"It's futile to resist; you will only cause yourself more pain," She intoned mechanically.

At this point, she was only a couple feet away. Gordon could see the sooty depressions around her eyes, lolling lifelessly beneath her coarse brows. She didn't blink at all.

Leaning over her suspect, she placed her hands on Gordon's shoulders. He could feel the tremendous strength in her grip. An erratic discomfort rose in his chest as she gazed at him with those perverse, alien eyes.

"We're not so different, you and I," She began sinuously. "I've seen you fight; I've watched you murder countless numbers of my men. And I've witnessed the enthusiasm in you when you do it."

She paused, running her index finger tantalizingly over Gordon's cheek.

"And now, I have come to realize my own affinity for savagery," She said lightly. "The Combine has offered me so much Gordon, you have no idea."

Alyx leaned in closer. Her face, still callous, was now distinctly active; her eyes would flash, seemingly by compulsion, and her vacuous mouth twitched, as if trying to evince, moment by moment, its owner's demeanor. Gordon had the distinct impression that he was looking at a machine.

"My superiors are willing to afford you a generous position," She declared slowly. "You would be acquitted, of course, of your various crimes against the Combine. In return for your compliancy, they will grant you a considerable amount of power–power, Gordon Freeman, to do whatever you want."

Gordon sat quietly. He doubted the proposition was genuine and, even so, he didn't like it. Alyx continued to scrutinize him closely. After a few minutes, he could tell she was getting irritated on account of his silent indisposition.

"Do you acknowledge the offer?" She asked impatiently.

Gordon nodded falsely. He didn't have the slightest inclination of joining forces with the Combine but he desperately wanted to get out of that room.

Alyx hesitated, as if somehow perceiving his insincerity. Taking one last careful study, she finally she released him from her wrenching embrace. She then strode over toward the door and opened up a rusty cabinet, exposing a lambent blue terminal.

Gordon saw his opportunity. Easing from his chair, he crept agilely behind her. She was focused on the monitor, attentively interpolating something via an adjoining panel. She didn't seem to take any notice of him. Extending his right arm out cautiously, he reached for her gun.

His hand had just grasped the stock when she turned around.

There was a momentary interim; Gordon faltered as Alyx gazed down apprehensively. After realizing what he was after, her reticence melted at once and her face grew livid. She immediately grappled him and forced him to the ground. In his hysteria, Gordon managed to cling to her leg, dragging her down with him. The gun was dislodged from her belt and tumbled out of sight. They tussled on the floor, frenziedly pummeling one another. Alyx quickly gained the upper hand and began buffeting him brutally across the chest. He shriveled beneath her unnatural strength.

Gordon, his forearms held defensively over his face, spotted a steel pipe anchored under a box beside the chair. He waited until Alyx had raised her forearm to smite him again, then nimbly rolled over and scrambled towards it.

Bludgeoning her over the head, Gordon watched his opponent stagger temporarily, and then collapse onto her knees. He had won the fight; though the pain in his ribs and chest began to swell profusely and he could hardly keep his balance. Slumping against the wall, he began tending to his bruised face. The room was in disarray; the shelves along the sides had capsized, spilling various articles across the floor which was now stained with streaks of blood. Staring languidly at the body sprawled out opposite him, he could hardly believe he had just struck Alyx Vance out cold.

A thought then intruded alarmingly into his head: what if she wakes up? He crawled over to where Alyx was lying motionless. If the combine had lobotomized her, he reasoned, there was nothing he could do to save her. He lifted up her hair and began examining the back of her scalp. There was not a single scar or sign of incision. He sighed in relief. This suggested that the cause of her abnormal behavior was external; the manipulation device was most likely concealed somewhere on her epidermis.

Gordon rolled Alyx over onto her back and removed her vest. Unzipping her uniform, he began searching for any overt protrusions on her abdomen. He suspected the presence of some sort of biological agent. The supplier of the agent would probably be located around the pancreas. If the device was lodged there, the pathogen would be self-sustaining: it would be able to reproduce continually and spread throughout the bloodstream. Removing the device would hopefully flush out the disease. It was a shot in the dark, but Gordon didn't have much time.

Finding nothing atypical on her stomach, he rolled her over again to examine her back. To his surprise, Gordon discovered a small implant protruding clearly on the left side of her spine. The area around the apparatus was dry and inflamed. He pulled on the outer part of the implant softly and, almost instantaneously, three minuscule needles issued forth from the skin. The device was out.

After waiting awhile, Gordon was dismayed to find no apparent change in Alyx's complexion. Then slowly, the dusky tone in her skin began to recede. Hovering over her, he could see the sags under her eyes starting to diminish. He couldn't believe it; his inexpert maneuver had worked. The flesh on her face, which had appeared pale and anemic, now assumed a more natural state. It looked as though youth was flowing miraculously back through her veins.

Suddenly her eyes opened, darting about the room frantically before resting on Gordon.

"It's you," She breathed exhaustedly.

Then, leaning up slowly, she kissed him on the lips.


End file.
